He knew he probably shouldn't care that much. He didn't knew these people at all... he didn't knew Yesenin at all, did he?
He was his very first guest after this apocalypse started. He felt he could trust Yesenin with his life. He wondered how much closer they could be; he wondered what could have happened if only they'd met earlier.
The man sighed and put his head on his hands, stuck in a loop of what if what if what if...
Author's notes: hey Bartag nation!! This is my first fanfic in YEARS and my very first one on this ship that I love so much! The Protag doesn't have a name here, he is identified as "the man"; Bar Guy is called "Yesenin". The dialogues in bold + italics are quotes from the Russian poet Sergey Yesenin's work! Please, accept this contribution to our beautiful fandom! Beware: English is not my first language.
Cw: drinking, suicidal tendencies, overall nihilism and pessimism, gun violence, abandonment issues, mentions to sex at the end (but not detailed)
Word count: 4K words
—
Another day, another checking session.
He was tired of it, truly. That cold, smothering feeling crept up his ribcage like a big spider. Everytime he needed to check one of his guests (if he could call them that), his throat closed up like it was filled with lumps of cotton.
He was judging lives. It didn't matter that some of them weren't human anymore. Who was he to decide who died and who lived?
Every time he pulled the trigger, he could feel the spilled blood weighing onto his very soul. He could hear their despair, their desire to live.
He wished he felt this same blind desire to keep on living.
Why am I doing this? Why am I holding the gun? I should be the one on the other end. I should be the one begging to be kept alive. I should, I should, I should-
"Good man?"
He snapped out of the trance. Who...? Ah.
Yesenin. Cold, avoidant, beautiful Yesenin.
Yesenin with the big hands; Yesenin with the intelligent eyes; Yesenin with the handsome face; Yesenin with the smart mind, YeseninYeseninYesenin-
"My good man, are you okay?"
Fuck. He should stop getting distracted.
"Ah... yes... I think."
An eyebrow raised.
"I... um... need to check you."
“You still believe those stupid signs?”
“Please,” the man sighed, impatient.
"Hm. What do you need?"
You. "Your hands".
Yesenin outstretched his pale hands. Long fingers and clean fingernails. Thank God.
He slowly grabbed his hands. Just to inspect them closely, he told himself, but this small gesture made his stomach flip.
"Your hands are clean," he said, releasing them. "May I check your eyes?"
He was met with an eyeroll and an annoyed huff. Before Yesenin could react, he felt a warm touch on his cheek, a thumb softly placed below his eye.
The other man looked at him intently. Deeply. In a moment, his eyes flicked down… to his... lips? No, Yesenin could only be imagining things. In no way he felt the same... tingling, the same weird feeling that bloomed from the center of his chest. His eyes were back to Yesenin's own, and hope was lost.
"You're clean" he murmured. With a flinch, Yesenin realized how close they were, a mere hair, a breath away.
The man stepped back and Yesenin's mind was a loop of what if what if what if…
What if I dared? What if I kissed him? What if I ran my hands through his hair? What if he kissed me back? What if he held me? What if he pushed me back? What if he shot me?
But these questions would not be answered now, as the man was already retreating, gun in hand, to check the other guests.
--
After checking everyone, and cracking open a beer, the man sat on his bed. He knew he probably shouldn't care that much. He didn't knew these people at all... he didn't knew Yesenin at all, did he?
He knew that Yesenin had a very pessimistic view on life, but he also saw the kindness in his eyes. Yesenin wasn't harmless, but he was, indeed, peaceful, and a poet, if the way he delivered his nihilism is anything to go by. He was his very first guest after this apocalypse started. He felt he could trust Yesenin with his life. Even though their dialogues were, more often than not, hopeless, he felt good talking to him. He wondered how much closer they could be; he wondered what could have happened if only they'd met earlier.
He wondered if the butterflies in his stomach were caused by the anxiety from the cataclysm or by the possibility of Yesenin owning the key to his heart. The man sighed and put his head on his hands, stuck in a loop of what if what if what if...
--
On the next night, a sharp knock at the door. A yellow Hazmat suit.
"Hello. We need to take two of your guests."
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
"Bring back the people you took before. You aren't taking anyone else" he was having none of it. All those soldiers and agents could go fuck themselves, for all he cared.
"Listen. You either give us two people, or we are going to kill everyone in there, do you understand?"
The man cursed under his breath. He couldn't afford losing more people, but he also couldn't let everyone be killed. Innocent people. Scared people. A child. Yesenin.
A warm hand on his shoulder.
"My good man, let me go with them."
He looked up and met warm eyes.
"Let me go with them, it couldn't be worse than the situation we are already in".
He felt cold. The floor disappeared from under him.
"No." I would rather go with them for you to survive. "No, you stay."
"I'm not a dog," the corner of his mouth quivered. "I know how to take care of myself."
"No! I won't let you go!"
He hated how his voice cracked at the end. He hated this situation, he hated F.E.M.A., he hated Yesenin for making him feel so scared of losing him.
Don't go! I can't be without you!
Just by thinking what could happen to him at their hands…
The agent banged on the door.
"If you don't give anyone, I'm coming in."
"If you do this, you will get shot! Try me, motherfucker!" He was trembling, gun pointed to where he guessed the agent's chest would be. He wasn't about to let his house get broken into like this; not without a good fight. Yesenin started to protest, the agent kept banging on the door, and he put his finger on the trigger-
"Hey! Wait! Don't shoot! We have these papers. Are these what they're looking for?"
The guy with the coat and the cashier girl.
"Here says that... uh... F.E.M.A. should take whoever has these papers to test if they're Visitors." The girl tried to smile.
They walked to the door.
"Here says th..that we will be back in a f-few days... so don't worry... about us!"
The girl opened the door. Her hands were trembling slightly.
"Fucking finally" the agent scoffed. "We will bring them back... if they're clean. Have a good night."
The man watched, helplessly, as two of his oldest guests were taken by the agent. He closed the door with a soft click. He couldn't feel his feet. Couldn't feel his face. His mind was blank. All he could feel was cold, a stark and painful cold that enveloped his entire body. I failed to protect them. I failed. They're gonna die and I let them. I failed them I failed them I failed them-
A gentle, but firm, hand enveloped his. An anchor.
"Hey, everything is okay," a soft whisper. The hand coaxed him to release the white-knuckled grip he had on the gun. "My good man, they will be okay."
He felt himself releasing the gun, and heard it being placed against the wall. He desperately needed something else to cling to. Something solid, something warm. He felt weak, like the world was collapsing over him.
A sob crawled up his throat and, in an instant, long arms wrapped firmly around his shoulders and waist. The hand that disarmed him now cradled his head and pushed it softly against a solid chest. He hugged back with a strength he didn't knew he had at that moment, gripping the back of Yesenin's shirt.
"They'll be back. They'll be back" was murmured into his hair like a mantra.
He hugged Yesenin like his life depended on it and let himself cry.
Cold, avoidant, beautiful Yesenin, now a rock for him to cling to; now someone who shared his pain; now someone willing to share warmth and to be there.
They stood there, at the door, in the dark, together, until his sobs subsided and his screams quiet down. Until Yesenin's heartbeat was all he could hear.
--
The next day arrived with a splitting headache.
After the whole last night situation, two more guests arrived at his doorstep. A young man with his mouth sewn shut and a runaway teenager.
How could he let them in when he knew for a fact that F.E.M.A. would come back again? How could he let them outside, at their own luck? The girl's parents were nowhere to be found and the young man was clearly in pain. Who the fuck sews someone's mouth shut??
After Yesenin dismissed himself to go to sleep and the other guests arrived, the man went to his room and let himself cry a bit more.
Oh, how he wished none of this was happening.
And now, there he was, with his head and eyes hurting from the whole night of crying, trying to reason with a teen on why she should let him check her teeth and then trying to decipher what language the young man spoke.
Truly a nightmare.
After this struggle, the man found himself in front of the living room's door.
He didn't need to check Yesenin. He already knew that he wasn't a Visitor. Then, why did he kept coming back to him?
Could it be curiosity? Pity? Interest?
He wished he didn't knew the answer.
"Hey."
"...hey."
"Did you sleep well, good man?"
He knew it was formality. He knew Yesenin could see the bags under his eyes and his sluggish movements.
"No."
"Hm, I figured. You look like you got dragged around the field by a pack of Visitors."
What an asshole.
"Very funny." He plopped heavily on the sofa besides Yesenin.
A second of silence.
"You ain't gonna check me?" Yesenin asked, softly, almost sweetly.
"No." He, way too carelessly, tossed the gun on the floor and hung his head between his knees. "I trust you."
His voice was small, fragile, like he was afraid of speaking too loudly and cause that moment of calmness to shatter.
He felt a ghost touch on his neck. Hesitant slender fingers cupping his nape, and a thumb caressing his skin. He couldn't find the strength to flinch away. Maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he wanted to drown in that touch. Maybe he wanted to grab Yesenin's wrist and pull him in and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.
Maybe, that way, he could forget the nightmare he was in.
But he just let himself be touched. He just let himself be comforted by the man he loved.
Loved?
Could he love someone he met just a few days ago? Could he love someone that he wouldn't have met if it weren't for these terrible circumstances? Could he love someone as desperate as he was?
He didn't have the answer to any of those questions. But Yesenin's touch was like a balsam, and that's all that mattered at that moment.
"My good man, look at me, please."
He raised his head, slowly. Yesenin's eyes were sad, but overflowing with a weird, soft affection that made the man's heart throb.
"You did your best. You did your best to keep them alive, you did your best to keep all of us alive." Yesenin teased a smile. "In this world you can search for everything, except Love and Death. They find you when the time comes. If it's time for Death to find your guests, then let it. But don't keep yourself slave of things you can't control."
He was speechless.
Yesenin was right, he knew that. He knew F.E.M.A. would keep coming back. He knew others may come and may go. He knew he would need to take more lives until all of this was over. But he also knew Yesenin would be there. He needed him to be there.
"Love and Death, huh?" He smiled a sad little thing, barely there, almost a grimace, but enough for that moment.
"Yes. Hm, you have dimples," Yesenin noted.
"I do," his eyes flicked from Yesenin's eyes to his lips. What if what if what if what if-
The man could feel himself inching closer, bit by bit, entranced. Yesenin came closer too, just a tiny bit. They were breathing into each other by now. Yesenin ran his other hand through the man's hair. The man closed his eyes.
A little knock at the living room door. It cracked open.
“Sr, fn, vcxfhv nv, dsviv rh gsv yzgsilln?” The young foreigner man.
Yesenin pretended to cough and retracted, busying his eyes with a random poetry book he found.
“Sorry, I can't understand you,” the man said, in an apologetic tone. He got up. “Do you need something?”
He left the room with the foreigner, but, before passing through the door, he looked back at Yesenin, for just a second. Yesenin's cheeks were flustered, he kept his eyes down, with a saddened expression. Could he be- no, I must be imagining things.
When the door closed, Yesenin ran his hands on his face. What was he doing? Trying to kiss the man? Absurd! But what if he did? What if he reciprocated? He came closer to me…
He sighed and opened the book again. Maybe he could forget the bubbling desire, maybe he could rationalize that he couldn't love someone in such a short period of time.
Maybe he could just accept that he wasn't enough for the man.
--
That night, the man heard a knock on the door.
Oh, God, let it not be F.E.M.A. again-
A pale man flashed a way-too-big smile. The same pale man from other nights.
“What do you want?”
“Hey… you’re still locked up in this house? Are you trying to prevent what’s coming?”
The man rested his forehead against the door, brows furrowed and eyes closed. He took a deep breath.
“Just go away, please.” I am so tired. I want this to end.
“Liiiiisten… are you home alone?”
The man clutched his gun.
“No, I am not. You should leave now.”
The pale man laughed a terrible, ugly laugh.
“It’s your lucky day, little man. I gotta go, but who knows what will happen tomorrow! Maybe you won’t be so lucky then… Remember: the dogs run the world now. Will you join them?”
He slowly got away from the door and disappeared into the darkness. The man was trembling. He wanted to throw up, wanted to scream. What the fuck is happening?
He turned and nearly jumped out of his skin as another tall, pale man stood behind him.
“Fuck, Yesenin! Don’t do that! I could’ve shot you!”
“Then you would’ve actually done me a favor.”
The man looked angrily at him.
“Sorry for that. Who was it? Another weirdo?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because you looked and sounded worried,” Yesenin said, almost sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. “I wanted to know if you would need… help… again.”
Oh. Okay.
The man sighed. He felt his chest warm.
“Thank you for this, I guess,” the man said, patting Yesenin’s arm. “But I’m fine. It’s just this weird ass guy. He’s definitely a Visitor, but, as long as I’m not alone in the house, he can’t come in.”
“Hm, no worries about it, then. I’ll keep you company for as long as you like.”
The man blushed. Yesenin could be saying this just to be a good guest, right? Yeah, probably. So why was he feeling like a teenager in love?
--
The next morning, the man found himself staring at the TV, but not actually listening to any of it. The words of the Pale Man (as he used to call him) echoed through his mind constantly.
The dogs run the world now. What could this mean? Does it mean that his time is running out? That he won't ever find solace or tranquility, be it in Death’s arms or… another pair of arms…
He didn't know, and it was eating him alive.
--
A few more days passed, and the cycle repeated itself constantly: new people would arrive; at night, F.E.M.A. would come back to take one or two of his guests; the Pale Man would come and threaten him; he would go to sleep, wake up next morning and check everyone. Everyone but Yesenin.
Yesenin would always hug and comfort him when F.E.M.A. took someone. He also did this when the foreigner man decided to leave and try to get the train back home. He did this when the preschool teacher shot herself.
They talked a lot, too. They would spend hours talking about anything: beer, poetry books, the apocalypse, the other guests, stories of old. He felt a strong connection to Yesenin, they were friends, after all… just friends.
They would also laugh together, even though it was a bit rare, and normally when they both were drunk. The man liked Yesenin’s laugh, it was rich and strong, and Yesenin would always observe and compliment the man’s smile and dimples.
“Why are you so obsessed with them?” The man would ask one day, when they were playing chess with an old table the man found in his closet.
Yesenin had told a very bad joke that caught the man by surprise and startled a laugh out of him. Yesenin, then, noted on his dimples once again.
“I’m not ‘obsessed’,” he said, while taking one of the man’s rooks with his bishop. “It's just that they’re kinda difficult to appear, so it always leaves me… surprised, I guess.” He almost didn’t said this part, and the man had to pause for a few seconds to understand what he said. He noted a light dusting of pink in Yesenin’s cheeks, and felt his own heating up, too.
“Um… well… thank you, then,” the man murmured, moving his pawn to capture Yesenin’s bishop.
“Hm, my good man, check-mate.”
“What?”
Yesenin smiled. “You moved your pawn and endangered your Queen, so I take her, and this leaves your King vulnerable to my rook.”
Yesenin demonstrated the check-mate.
“Shit. I lost all my skills in this game.” The man ruffled his short hair back.
“Nah, you played well,” Yesenin started reordering the pieces. “Your mind is just elsewhere.”
Yes, in you. He wanted to answer. He spent the whole game looking at Yesenin’s hands, his eyes, his lips… anywhere but the table or the pieces.
He wanted to tell Yesenin how he felt. He wanted to say that all these days of talking had cemented inside of him the sureness of his liking to the other man. He didn’t knew if it was love, but by God if it wasn’t a good feeling. He felt weird, yes, but in a good way. He was afraid of being vulnerable, of showing Yesenin his worst side, of daring to touch Yesenin with such dirty hands. He was scared of Yesenin turning his back on him, of Yesenin realizing that he was way too good for the man. But, at the same time, he wanted nothing else but to grab Yesenin’s face and scream how much he liked him, how much he wanted to wake up next to Yesenin everyday, how much he wanted them. He wanted to tell him how much he feared Death if it meant that She would separate them.
He looked up and found Yesenin already watching him. Blue, intelligent eyes staring at his soul.
“My good man, what are you thinking about? You put up your pieces all wrong.”
He would spend the rest of his life wondering what gave him the courage in that moment. Perhaps it was the threat of imminent Death, or the possibility of Love finding him. In any way, he decided he couldn't wait anymore.
He got up from his chair, walked around the table and stopped right in front of Yesenin.
“What are you doing?” Yesenin began to ask, but was cut short with the man gently cradling Yesenin's face with trembling hands. The man took a deep, shaky breath and kissed his lips. Softly at first, just a peck. Then another, and another. Testing the waters.
Yesenin paused for a second, and then his hand snaked to the man’s nape, his pupils blown wide.
"Come here."
They kissed. Deeply. Slowly. Once, twice, three times.
Yesenin pulled the man onto his lap, holding his hips. The man looped his arms around Yesenin's shoulders and kissed him again, this time more desperately, like he was compensating all the yearning, all the pain, all the time lost. Maybe he was.
He felt his shirt being lifted a little and a shiver ran down his spine. He broke the kiss with a soft whine. "Yesenin... ah- wait..." big hands were under his shirt, caressing his back with featherlight touches, "...wait, please."
"I'm waiting, dear." The hands stilled on his waist. "Is this alright?"
Dear.
"Yes, it's alright," he said, resting their foreheads together. "It's just..."
"Too soon?" A whisper.
"A bit."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. It feels... good."
He didn't actually felt it was too soon, it's just that... he wasn't used to this kind of touch, a gentle, loving touch. A touch not meant to harm, but to comfort. It was, indeed, alien to him. But Yesenin made it feel so... natural, as if it was supposed to happen exactly like that.
Yesenin hummed low on his throat, his eyes trained on the man's. He drank his gaze like a thirsty man. They were both blushing, faces hot from being so close to each other.
The man touched his lips to Yesenin's forehead and pulled his face into his neck. He could feel Yesenin's breath under his ear, felt small kisses being pressed right above the collar of his turtleneck, going up to his cheek.
"I shall kiss you 'till you swoon, crush you like a bloom" Yesenin whispered.
"You're... hm... a poet."
"Specially for you, handsome"
For fucks sake, this man will be the death of me.
But a sour doubt still crept up his spine.
"Yesenin."
"Yes, darling"
"Tell me you're not doing this for pity"
Yesenin paused, pulled back, brows furrowed.
"What?"
"Tell me you mean this, that you're not doing this merely to comfort me, or to trick me into believing something that's not real. Tell me... tell me you want... this. Tell me you want me," a little sigh. "Because I want you, Yesenin, so fucking bad. I don't want to choke on my desire."
Yesenin saw the brokenness in the man's eyes. He saw the fear of betrayal. He saw the fear of abandonment, the fear of being denied the one thing he craved so much. He was starving, and Yesenin could give him what he was hungry for, but could also withhold it from him.
Yesenin could never do this to him.
"Dear, never ask me this again", he cupped his face with one hand, the other caressing his waist. "I see your heart in your eyes. Please don't doubt that I can take good care of it."
The man buried his nose into Yesenin's shoulder. He could feel his pulse, his blood running. A reminder that Yesenin was alive and well.
"I don't pity you," Yesenin whispered into his hair. "You take care of all of us in here, you deal with unknown horrors every night, you keep your cool even when there's a Visitor here." He kissed his temple. "I don't pity you. I admire you. I want you. You are a good man; my good man."
The man's heart ached. It ached so sweetly. He lifted his head and looked into Yesenin's eyes. He saw care and compassion. He wanted to melt into Yesenin's hands, he wanted to feel at home, to feel at peace in his embrace.
“I told you I was going to keep you company for as long as you want me around. I meant it,” Yesenin said, kissing the crown of the man’s head.
"Thank you." He kissed Yesenin's face, his nose, his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. "Thank you, my heart."
Yesenin received the kisses with grace, and kept caressing the man's waist, feeling the smooth skin, humming softly and smiling like a fucking idiot. He was so gone. Eventually, the butterfly kisses strayed to his neck and turned into open-mouthed ones and little suctions at the delicate skin there.
"Hmm… handsome, I think... I think we should go to your room... for this..."
They got up, but not in a hurry. They had all the time they wanted. They kept sharing caresses. Soft touches that raised goosebumps, sweet kisses that lasted an eternity, hugs that fixed the broken pieces of their hearts.
When the door locked behind them, the man let Yesenin undress him, let him kiss him, let him touch him everywhere, and they loved each other until they were sated and tired.
He laid his head on Yesenin's chest, listening to his heartbeat. He looked up, still a bit breathless, and was met with sleepy eyes and a soft smile. He reciprocated.
"There they are! My favorite dimples."
The man traced with his fingertips the small bruises he left on the taller man's skin. He couldn't believe it, couldn't believe that Love had found him first than Death. He couldn't believe he was allowed to touch Yesenin like that. He sighed and let himself sink into his darling’s soft embrace.
"Yesenin"
"Yes, love."
Love.
"Thank you."
--
End notes: that was a delight to write! I apologize for any lore errors or mischaracterizations. To me, Yesenin is the king of pet names and y'all can't convince me otherwise.
